


southern comfort

by hobbitual



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Foot Fetish, Foot Massage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:59:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6290827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitual/pseuds/hobbitual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is as self indulgent as it gets and it was just a matter of time lmao</p><p>thank you for reading, especially this one! please enjoy and id love to know what you thought :^)</p>
    </blockquote>





	southern comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bekaylo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bekaylo/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Южный комфорт](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133614) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



> this is as self indulgent as it gets and it was just a matter of time lmao
> 
> thank you for reading, especially this one! please enjoy and id love to know what you thought :^)

“It's __freezing in here.”

Brock is huddled up on one side of the couch, a mess of blankets and sheets draped over the entirety of the furniture. It looks like he took everything off of Jack's bed and transferred it to the couch. Brock is entirely invisible underneath all of the blankets; all that can be seen of him is tufts of dark hair, rearranged out of its usual style from his restless burrowing deeper into the bedclothes.

“It's sixty degrees in here,” Jack says, leaning against the wall next to an open window. “You're just cold-blooded.”

There's a growl from under the blankets, and then furious thrashing as Brock attempts to extricate himself from the mess. It takes a few minutes, Jack watching patiently, until Brock's upper body makes an appearance. His hair is completely disheveled now, hanging over his eyes in the front and sticking up randomly on the sides. Flicking it out of his sight line with an irritated toss of his head, he shoots Jack a glare.

“Are you going to take care of me when I'm sick? I'm _elderly_ ,” Brock says, spitting out the last word with venom.

“Think you know the answer to that,” Jack nonchalantly replies, giving Brock a smug smile as the color drains from his face and he quickly piles blankets back on top of him.

“I hate being cold.” Brock's voice is small and Jack can almost hear the pouting.

Walking over to the couch and rearranging the blankets to clear a place to sit, Jack takes a seat next to Brock. His toes are peeking out from under the fabrics, just a sliver of his toenails visible. Jack pulls the blankets down to cover Brock's toes as a favor, finding himself missing the sight a little. “You hate everything,” he says, and wraps his arms around Brock's bent knees in a tight hug. “Not me, though.”

“I beg to fucking differ,” Brock mutters, squirming and almost kneeing Jack in the face. It brings the blankets up over his feet again and Jack watches as Brock's toes flex and curl in his discomfort. The more Jack looks at Brock's feet, the more details he notices. They're as tan as the rest of him, and his toenails are rosy and light pink; they're as shapely and delicate as his fingernails, making Jack wonder if he gets pedicures or they're just naturally perfect. In a spark of irony, as Jack is caught up in admiration, Brock straightens his legs out and pushes the soles of his feet against Jack's arm.

“Are you feeling that? Ice cold. I'm going to get hypothermia and you're not doing anything about it,” Brock complains. He takes to kicking at Jack's arm, whining a litany of 'fix it' until Jack takes both feet in hand and pulls them into his lap.

“Alright, alright. Calm down, Thumper,” Jack says, sticking his tongue out at Brock when he flips him off. As he positions Brock's feet to be more comfortable in his own lap, Jack momentarily feels bad for Brock; his feet really are like blocks of ice.

Brock settles back down into the blankets, situating them so they cover the length of his body up to his ankles. He wraps the blankets near his head around his shoulders and over the bottom half of his face until all that's visible is tousled dark hair, hazel eyes and the bridge of a sweetly crooked nose. Jack smiles at the sight, making Brock blush and duck his head under the covers.

Jack gives Brock a reprieve and turns his attention back to the feet in his lap. He gives them a light squeeze, feeling the smoothness on top and the rougher, slightly calloused texture of Brock's soles. He wouldn't be surprised if Brock had a skincare routine for his feet; for how much running around they do, Brock's feet are way too smooth.

Jack begins rubbing warmth into Brock's feet, just using the friction of his hands to bring some feeling back into the muscles. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Brock watching him again.

“Better?” Jack asks, getting a low hum from Brock's throat in response.

Jack takes Brock's left foot in both hands, running the pad of his thumb against each of Brock's toes. It's cute, Jack thinks, how small Brock's toes are. They look smaller than average male feet, but proportionate to the rest of Brock's smaller than average body. Paying attention to Brock's toenails now, Jack marvels at how smooth they are; they almost feel silky. He pushes down experimentally on the toenail of Brock's big toe, eliciting a content sigh from Brock.

Jack pauses to look over at Brock. His eyes are closed, head tilted back, and when Brock notices he's stopped, he cracks one eye open. “Could still freeze to death at any minute, asshole,” Brock mumbles, without any of the usual bite to his tone. He flexes his toes in Jack's grip, impatience clear in his movements. There's a flush in the bit of his cheeks Jack can see above the blankets.

Jack hums under his breath and continues his ministrations. He pushes a thumb into the sole of Brock's foot, rubbing firm circles into the muscles. With his other hand, he takes hold of Brock's heel. When he scrapes his nails down the center, Brock's legs jerk involuntarily and Jack nearly gets a kick to the balls, avoiding it with quick reflexes.

“Ticklish, huh?”

“Fucking don't,” Brock growls, albeit quietly. He turns over on the couch onto his side, pulling the blankets up to cover his head. He pushes the soles of his feet against Jack's stomach, wordlessly asking for Jack to continue.

Jack complies, taking hold of one of Brock's ankles. He wraps his hand around the circumference of Brock's ankle; it's slim enough that the fingers overlap. Jack thinks about how easy it would be to snap the fine bones like twigs. He never gets tired of how delicate Brock is under all the muscles and posturing, how much smaller he is, how fragile on the inside and out.

When Jack traces a finger around the knob of bone on Brock's ankle, a sleepy mewling noise comes from underneath the blankets. “I said don't,” Brock protests, voice a tiny bit higher. “I don't like it.”

“Sorry, honey,” Jack says. “Gettin' warmer now?”

Brock shifts under the blankets, curling into himself to get comfortable. Jack knows just by the sight that he's halfway to falling asleep.

“I'll live another day,” Brock sighs, and nudges Jack's stomach with his toes again. “Maybe.”

“Hope so,” Jack says, picking back up on rubbing at Brock's feet, this time with his knuckles.

They stay like that for a while, Jack keeping up the treatment even after Brock's breathing has evened out and he's deeply asleep.

When Jack finally stops, he gently moves Brock's feet off his lap and onto the couch. He reaches over to the blankets covering Brock's head, pulling them down to give Brock some breathing room. Brock's hair is mussed so much that only a comb can fix it, but Jack brushes the strands out of his eyes anyway. He presses a kiss to the side of Brock's head, smiling fondly when Brock's nose twitches.

Standing and moving over to where he'd positioned Brock's feet, Jack pulls the blankets down to cover them, leaving just his toes peeking out, and lets Brock sleep.

 


End file.
